


City of Counts

by FunnyLittleOwl



Series: home is wherever i'm with you [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Barcelona is beautiful, Fluff, Improper usage of social media, M/M, Mutual Pining, Part of the travel!series, Sightseeing, Slow Burn, Tourists, Victor is Victor, World Travel, Yuuri is oblivious, a lot of fluff, a lot of touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10442934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunnyLittleOwl/pseuds/FunnyLittleOwl
Summary: An homage to Barcelona.Yuuri and Victor go sightseeing on the eve of the Grand Prix Finals. It's almost like the city is trying to tell them something.Or in which there's ice cream on Yuuri's face, Phichit talks about boats and Victor should really consider being a professional runner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. Eight thousand words of unabashed, travel!fic fluff.

Victor Nikiforov was hardly what Yuuri had expected. 

He couldn't help but have many expectations, you see. Growing up with a person's face plastered on your walls had a way of weaving a false sense of intimacy between the two of you, like you already knew what to expect from that person at all times. In a sense, Victor had always been there, through happiness, hard work and pain - a comforting presence in an ever-evolving world. _Victor Nikiforov, the beautiful, ethereal man from the posters._

Except that the person living with Yuuri for the past year was not two-dimensional at all and did not wear nearly that much leather.

No, _that_ man was the real deal.

Victor didn't smile complacently down at Yuuri, silent and mysterious in both his support and reproach. He wasn't distant and aloof, as much as Yuuri had wanted to put him up in a pedestal those first few weeks. Victor wouldn't have that. He wasn't like that.

He wasn't sculpted from marble and ice, all hard lines and fierce looks; he was fiery, malleable and insufferable - he drove him absolutely insane in a minute and then redeemed himself a minute later with heartfelt apologies in his ear and an earth-shattering smile to his face. Somewhere along the way, Yuuri realized anything else but the truth would pale in comparison to the real man and he wouldn't have him any other way.

Victor, the real Victor, should never have to be anything but himself, and so Yuuri had told him, thinking that would help build up their relationship on the ice. But that had some unforeseen side-effects.

Victor was _clingy._ He loved to cuddle with every warm surface available, whether it was his dog or Yuuri's sleepy body. He nuzzled and teased and sneaked his way into Yuuri's personal bubble until he started craving for every ounce of the man's casual affection, uncompromised and easy as it might feel.

Yuuri also knew he was screwed.

While Victor had revealed himself to be a very tactile person from day one, and it had taken longer than acceptable for Yuuri to be brave enough to reach out back himself, he couldn't help but notice Victor's touches were getting a little more desperate as they approached the end of their partnership.

We're talking here about the man who kissed Yuuri on international television just to prove a point. And it's only gotten _worse_  from there.

He managed to embarrass Yuuri through the entirety of their flight from Tokyo to Barcelona by wrapping himself up in the most creative positions around Yuuri's person and making the most abysmal, satisfied noises when he found a comfortable place to sleep, drooling and breathing all over his neck. He kissed Yuuri's face constantly now, his eyelids and forehead and cheeks, especially when he _really_ shouldn't: when Yuuri was mad and didn't want to talk to him, when Yuuri just woke up and was basically defenseless against his investments, when he looked at him like _that_ and it made Yuuri hope there was something more to it.

Victor should know better by now. But he didn't. Because he was Victor. And so he kept taking Yuuri's heart little by little in the same effortless way he did everything else.

Yuuri sighed. It was almost over now. There was no need to chastise him for it anymore, when he could just let himself have this until the very end.

He was in Spain, after all. There were definitely worse places to have your heart broken by the love of your life.

Yuuri smiled, because he was a masochist. It was then he realized Victor had been speaking to him this entire time.

The silver-haired man's fingers were squeezing against his like he did when Yuuri wasn't paying him any attention, so he figured he shouldn't lie to his coach. 

"Sorry," he tried, squeezing his fingers back, "I was miles away."

They were walking side by side through a very narrow street only Victor and native Catalans seemed to know about. He might have been aware of it when the Russian had said the word "shortcut" a while ago, he just didn't fully process it until they were squeezed against freezing stone walls to their right and drying duvets hanging from the windows to their left.

"I was saying," Victor smiled, not missing a beat, "I think you're gonna love this city. I've been here countless times before, and never once did it lose its charm. It's a marvel, really, the way it never stops surprising me. Where do you want to start?"

"Wherever you'd like," Yuuri shrugged, "You can show me all your favorite places."

"Oh, but we don't have the whole week," he said playfully, "Unless you'd be willing to extend our stay till Christmas. I'm sure the hotel would gladly upgrade our room if they found out you were a Grand Prix champion. I would very much love a bigger bed."

Yuuri blushed hard at the implications there, "That would be nice."

"It would be, wouldn't it?"

But that wasn't going to happen. They would be leaving Barcelona - and quite possibly each other - in a few days, regardless of any winning results. There was no need to reassure Yuuri of a near future including the both of them out of politeness.

"So, _Yuuri_ ," Victor singsonged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Starting today, I am your guide. You can count on my remarkable sense of direction to distract you from all your worries and ensure you have a great time before it all culminates at the Grand Prix Finals' podium."

Yuuri startled himself with laughter at the flashback.

"Okay, so now you're my tour guide, coach," he listed, "nutritionist, personal stylist, coiffeur..."

"And your professional massage therapist, don't forget," Victor winked.

"How much am I paying you again?"

"Not nearly enough," Victor teased, feigning pain in his chest.

"I'll have to make it up to you somehow," Yuuri smiled, but deep down he was serious about it. He didn't like owing people any money or favors. They still needed to discuss this more carefully later.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," he said next to his ear, "There isn't much you haven't given me already. _Oh_ , we're here."

The alley converged into an open avenue buzzing with people and street performers and a myriad of Christmas songs bursting through every store's speakers. The alluring Mediterranean scenery was finally making itself known in front of them and Yuuri was absolutely enthralled.

He looked around and saw strangely shaped buildings so colorful Yuuri thought he might have a seizure. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. He couldn't believe he was finally face to face with the beautiful work of Antonio Gaudí, one of the most brilliant architects ever known to history. 

He couldn't take it all in at once. In Japan, he was used to admiring its familiar architecture that broadcast their ancient culture and power, with everything following a strict, recognizable pattern, that he was overwhelmingly proud of. Living in America, he got used to modern, futuristic and somewhat sterile forms of art, that he found beautiful nonetheless, born out of necessity and a need for greatness.

But this was different. This was warm and so very alive Yuuri could not believe a single person could feel depressed standing in the middle of this street. Everything looked brighter under the light of the late morning sun and the dazzling blue skies, too vivid for a cold winter setting. He decided he loved it immediately. He loved Barcelona.

When he looked back at Victor, icy blue eyes met his with rapt interest, in a silent, ever-present question of " _Did I do good?_ ". Today, those eyes also pressed: " _Tell me what you're thinking_ " in regards to their trip. It was almost like his trademarked look of " _Tell me everything about you_ ", but that one still left Yuuri red and breathless every time.

Victor liked showing things to him, liked watching his response, he enjoyed being praised with an enthusiasm that put any extroverted child to shame. Yuuri, of course, loved nothing more than indulging him, so he did.

"Well, Victor," he smiled fondly, "It's beautiful. It really is. I can see why you like it here so much. I'm glad I didn't pass on your tour today." 

"You're welcome," he replied sheepishly, "I do try my best."

"I know."

"Every walk in Barcelona starts and ends with Las Ramblas. It's the name of this avenue - the Catalan Champs-Élysées. It's pretty much the heart of the city. There's just so much to do here - do you want to walk to the market? Or perhaps towards the beach. We could go shopping! What do you think?"

"Woah," Yuuri gaped at him, dumbfounded, " _Or_  we could always start by having some ice cream. Like right there," Yuuri pointed to the booth on the other side of the street.

"Ice cream?" Victor practically squealed, "Now you're speaking my language."

He dragged Yuuri by the arm through the avenue, running over a few tourists, but they did get some ice cream in the end. Victor made him order a flavor called a "dulce de leche", which he could hardly pronounce, but Victor was very adamant about it. 

"I tried katsudon for you," he said solemnly, "Now you must try this for me."

Yuuri did. Of course he did.

"Good?"

"Vkusno."

Victor gave him a heart-stopping grin.

"I knew you'd love it."

They sat down on a bench and started planning their day with the aid of Google Maps. Victor said he didn't need it, but Yuuri wanted to be able to know where they were going as well. It was then he noticed, with a frown, that his scoop was disappearing a lot faster than he was eating it. It was winter, it wasn't melting. So what was...

"Victor!" he accused, "Quit stealing from my cup! You have your own."

"But yours is just so much better."

"Well, you should have asked for this dulce thingy then as well, if you were just gonna end up eating from mine."

"I wanted both flavors, so I made you ask for one of them."

"You're a bad man."

"You still love me, so," he made a cheeky move for Yuuri's cup again and wasn't met with any resistance. "Fight for your ice cream, Yuuri!" Victor pointed at him with his spoon, "Or else I'm gonna finish it all."

"I'm fine letting you have it," Yuuri shrugged it off bemusedly. 

"Are you sure?" the Russian raised his eyebrow, his right hand going for the scoop in a teasing slow motion.

Yuuri's not sure. 

"Wait, not the last spoonful!"

Victor gave him a resounding laugh, turning the spoon in Yuuri's direction instead. He meant to feed it to Yuuri, but Yuuri wasn't prepared and it ended up hitting his nose instead.

That only made Victor laugh harder, but he took off his gloves and cleaned the smudge off with a swipe of his thumb. It was still a bit dirty afterwards and felt somewhat sticky, so Victor brushed the back of his other hand against it, starting to draw attention from people passing by.

"I swear you make a point of embarrassing me at least ten times a day," Yuuri flushed like a tomato, paralyzed from all the careful petting, "Your hands are freezing, by the way."

"That's what you get for eating ice cream outdoors in the middle of December," Victor nudged, sliding his gloves back on. There was the slightest suggestion of a blush on his cheeks, so at least Yuuri knew he felt sorry for accidentally messing up his face.

"You're the one who suggested it, though."

"I'm Russian," he elucidated, "If I can't eat ice cream in the cold, then I'll never have ice cream at all."

"That actually makes sense, so I won't get you for this one," Yuuri conceded, "You have a hard enough life as it is. I think we should probably get going. Where was it next? To the Sagarada Família."

"La _Sagrada_ Família," Victor corrected with his uncanny mastery of the letter "R" in every language.

"That one. I _know_. Are you sure I look okay? I don't wanna pull out my phone, my gloves aren't tactical like yours."

"Yes, Yuuri. You look beautiful as always. Shall we go?" he offered his arm.

Yuuri took it, god help him. 

He wasn't sure how many people recognized them in the streets, especially with the city being so crowded for the holiday season and the fact they were on the eve of the Finals, with fans coming from everywhere in the world just to see their favorite athletes in action. He would be surprised if they weren't all over Instagram by now, like they exceedingly always seemed to be these days.

Yuuri wondered what people thought when they saw them. He knew what they looked like. He knew what _he_ would think if he were an outsider, but that only goes to show how little people actually know about their beloved public figures. How little he actually knew about Victor before he met him. They're not in fact like that. Never have been. Not at all. Not once. _Sadly_ , Yuuri's mind completed. _And we never will_.

They walked all the way to the cathedral, stopping sporadically for Victor to browse a few shop windows and make Yuuri get some souvenirs for his family in Hasetsu. What started with "browsing" ended up with "buying absolutely everything" and suddenly Yuuri found himself carrying a lot of bags with Victor's new stuff, which included an impressive collection of scarves in every color, a silver watch and a polka dotted sweater for Makkachin, aside from all the expected  "I <3 Barcelona" keychains and comfy T-shirts - that Yuuri knew he enjoyed wearing to bed when it was especially cold.

When they finally arrived at the Sagrada Família, there was a long line outside. When Victor voiced that, not particularly surprised, Yuuri replied, "Well, that would be the understatement of the year."

The line encircled the entire block surrounding the building and just kept going until there were people sitting down having picnics in the grass where they waited inside a park.

"Still on the subject of fighting for what you want," Victor started, to which Yuuri immediately interrupted with "Why do I feel like I'm being tested today somehow," and Victor continued, "How much do you want to go inside the church? If you really want to, we'll wait. It's not a problem."

Yuuri really wanted to. His classes on ancient and contemporary art were always his absolute favorites, and there was nothing quite like Sagrada Familia in the world. Just looking at it up close, Yuuri thought he could cry, it was too magnificent.

"I don't think it's necessary," Yuuri said, pretending to clean his glasses, "We can go somewhere else."

"Yuuri..."

"Seriously, it's fine. I'm sure I'll come back here and visit it some other time."

"I know you studied art in college," Victor said tentatively, "You've been looking forward to this for a while now."

"Victor, it's not the end of the world," Yuuri smiled, endeared by his concern. "I say we go have some lunch and then we could head to Parque Güell. At least there it's open so we're not bound to wait in any lines."

"Okay," Victor gave in with a soft sigh, "But first we need to take our selfie."

"Sure."

"And you're posting this one on your Instagram account."

"There's nothing in my account, Victor, Phichit just set it up for me without telling me."

"Exactly," he agreed, "What better way of making sure you remember to come back here again? It'll be your only record on social media _ever_. You'll never get away from it. People won't let you."

"People or _you_?" Yuuri teased.

"Mostly me, but also people," Victor clarified.

"Okay, you big sap," he mentioned for him to comer closer and grabbed his phone. "I'll make sure to get the line in the picture."

Victor hugged him from behind as they posed for Yuuri's phone. "Make a sad face," he whispered in his ear, then morphed his own face into an expression of pure despair. Yuuri couldn't help but laugh insanely at Victor's reflection on the tiny screen, and that's when he took the shot.

Victor promptly seized the phone from Yuuri's grasp to take a look at the photo. He stared fondly at it for a few seconds, then started fiddling with the screen, until he turned it around for Yuuri to see it.

"What filter, do you think?" Victor asked. "Valencia or Clarendon?"

Yuuri stared at the picture in shock. It was the single funniest thing he had ever seen. Victor looked like a child who just had their ice cream stolen, which couldn't be further from the truth. The line stretched behind them like a parade of ants and La Sagrada Família loomed above them imposingly. But it was his own face that startled him the most. He wondered if he had ever looked happier in his life. Probably not. Definitely not in a picture, though.

"Your face doesn't need a filter," it was what came out.

Victor pouted adoringly.

"Clarendon," Yuuri decided. "It brings out your eyes and the stone walls in the back."

Victor nodded and kept tapping away the keys. When he finally gave the phone back to Yuuri, his feed now read, above numerous pictures of Phichit's meals and drinks:

 

**_katsukiyuuri_** | If we don't show up to compete at the Grand Prix tomorrow, we're probably still here. #Ain'tNobodyGotTheTime #IWillBeBack #GPFBarcelona2016 | _posted 1 min ago_

 

"Have fun pretending to be me?"

"Far too much," he grinned.

"People are gonna think I'm funny now," Yuuri pondered.

"Then now they know the truth."

Yuuri looked at at Victor. _Really_ looked at him. He sounded nothing but sincere, which was, at the very least, troubling.

"You're a menace, Nikiforov, I'm telling you."

"I've been called worse," he smirked, then extended his hand again, "Come on. I'm hungry."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Somebody help my phone," Yuuri eyed at the object dancing on the table with horror, "It's having a seizure."

Victor was busy staring at the menu on his lap, but he looked up at once when he heard that remark.

"Pardon?"

"I don't know," Yuuri gestured frantically towards it, "It won't stop shaking. I can't even unlock it, the screen froze."

Victor's face went through a wild range of expressions in just a few seconds: first, he frowned at the scene, uncomprehending; then he raised his eyebrow at Yuuri and motioned to speak, but closed his mouth again. Finally, his eyes went a little watery, he shuddered... and suddenly the man was caught in a full-body laugh, loud and ungracious, like a dying whale.

" _Yuuri_ ," he cried out, "Did you leave all your notifications on? With alerts _and_ vibrations? You're right, your phone _is_ dying from over-stimulation."

"Victor, this isn't funny!"

"No, _you_ are, we've established that," he said, finally managing to get a hold of his giggling fit. "Give it to me. I'm gonna fix it. You know you're an embarrassment to your continent for you being so completely inept at technology, right?"

"Let us not begin on how _you_ are a complete embarrassment to your Mother Russia now, shall we, Mr. I-Have-Five-Designer-Bags?"

"Touché," he granted, giving the poor thing back to its owner with a half-smile and a small caress to his open palm. "It should be fine now. Only problem is, we're apparently a meme already."

"A _w-what_?" Yuuri stuttered, scrambling his feed viciously, "Victor, why does my picture have fifty thousand likes in less than an hour? I had exactly one follower before this, and it was Phichit, because he followed himself."

"Well, there were many hashtags," Victor acknowledged, but Yuuri stared unbelieving at that,"I also may have tagged myself. And shared it with Facebook."

"Oh, that explains it."

"Your fans are happy, though."

"My fans?"

"Yes!" Victor said excitedly, "Just take a look. You made their day."

Yuuri did take a look. There were hundreds of comments, most of them exclusively of heart emojis, consisting of friendly messages in many languages, some of them even left in the worldwide common dialect of keyboard-smashing. While a few were very suggestive and he blushed as he read them, most of them were extremely kind. It was nice. He didn't know there were so many people cheering for him, even outside of Japan. He never dreamed he would have _fans_ someday because of his work. Fans were for the likes of Victor, who was truly out of this world, too beautiful, too brilliant, too much. But Yuuri?

He found Victor watching him with interest, his chin propped on his entwined hands, blue eyes twinkling like he had just proven a point. Smug Victor was the worst Victor. _The best Victor_ , his mind corrected.

"Are you ready to order?" the Russian asked softly. He knew when not to press a subject. Yuuri loved him for it.

"Yes, but you're gonna have to do it for me. I can't pronounce the name of this dish. There are too many accents, some of them are even in consonants! It's too complex for my kanji-oriented reading skills."

"Which one is it?" Victor asked and Yuuri pointed at it. Then he proceeded to say it out loud like he was born right here in this restaurant and never left. "Yeah, that's a good choice."

He called the waiter, an old man with a silver mustache, made their order and then apparently engaged in conversation with him for a couple of minutes, until they were both laughing and the man left with a slight nod.

"Do you speak fluent Spanish, Victor?" Yuuri asked, astounded. "You know, I couldn't help but notice you knew your way around like a native - but I never considered you spoke it too. It must make things a lot easier. It's very melodic, I like it."

"Well, I speak fluent French, it's close enough to have picked up some things over the years," Victor explained casually, like it was nothing. "And for the record, most people don't speak Spanish in Barcelona, they speak Catalan. It's quite similar, but not the same."

"Well, from what I've been hearing, you sound just like the rest of them. Could you try and be less of a polyglot genius, Nikiforov?" Yuuri smiled fondly at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, your English is a lot better than mine."

"You know I _did_ live in Detroit for the past five years. Apart from that, I only speak Japanese and a few words of Thai. You, on the other hand, speak Russian, English, French, Italian, apparently Spanish and Catalan... am I missing anything?"

"You're missing all my beautiful progress on my trainee's euphonious mother language," Victor added, amused.

"Wait," Yuuri stopped breathing. "You've been learning Japanese?"

"I _have_ been living in Japan for the past eight months with a Japanese family," Victor perused him curiously, "What did you expect?"

"So you understand us?" Yuuri continued frenziedly, "At dinner? When Mari... Oh, my god."

"I'm not actually that good," Victor laughed at his desperation, "But I do pick up a few phrases here and there. Nothing much."

"Oh, thank god," Yuuri exhaled in relief.

"But I do think it's cute that you had so many posters of me growing up."

Oh, _no._

"This isn't happening," Yuuri hid his face behind his hands, mortified.

"And that you named your dog after me."

"Victor, I..."

"What?"

"You must... you must think I'm some raging fanboy," Yuuri muttered quietly. "I'm sorry. It's not like that."

"What?" he repeated in shock, "Don't be sorry. I'm flattered. It's not like I'm not your biggest fan as well. Besides, we're way past that phase, aren't we? You're a little shit to me now. Nothing I do surprises you anymore," Victor smiled distractedly, looking down at his drink.

_It's not like I'm not your biggest fan as well._

Yuuri's entire world view did a quad flip and missed the landing.

"Routine will do that to you," Victor went on, completely unaware Yuuri's mind was still spinning on its axis, "By now, you probably know all my shortcomings, my _eccentricities_ , and you're not as willing to worship where I stand as you would be when I first arrived. It's a shame, almost."

" _Eccentricities_?" Yuuri couldn't help but laugh at that. "Is that what we're calling it these days when you leave your wet towels on my bed? Or when you forget to clean up after Makkachin? Your Russian bathing habits? And when you're clipping your toenails in front of me, that's gross."

"See? All the enchantment.... gone." Victor gestured with a flick of his hand. "I couldn't daze you if I tried."

Yuuri studied intently the man who had just pronounced himself his number one fan. The most beautiful man Yuuri had ever known. He chuckled.

"Don't be so sure."

_Even when I don't open up, he meets me where I am._

 

 

* * *

 

 

They held hands unabashedly while they climbed up the streets leading to Parque Güell, where they would have a privileged view of all of Barcelona. Something about the alluring Mediterranean scenery was making Yuuri daring like that. 

Yuuri remembered reading in class about how Gaudí projected the park in the same style as the rest of the city, full of colorful, atypical constructions that seemed to defy logic at the first sight. The stairway, the towers, even the trees, it was all so fascinating, he couldn't believe he was being introduced to this universe with Victor Nikiforov, of all people, by his side.

"I like travelling with you," Victor seemed to read his thoughts. "You're so responsive. Everything's a novelty to you, Yuuri. You make me see things with different eyes."

Yuuri froze at his sudden earnestness and tightened his grip on the Russian's hand, but he wasn't about to embarrass himself again.

"Me, too," he managed, "You're a good guide. I dare say the best I ever had."

Victor laughed heartily, shaking his head. "And the only one at that."

"Well, I never needed any other," Yuuri confessed, then wondered if it hit a bit too close to home. He changed the subject. "You know, I was thinking about how every important city in the world has a nickname - like New York is the Big Apple, Paris is the City of Lights and LA is the City of Angels. I just realized I don't know how Barcelona is called. It must be called something, right?"

"The City of Counts," Victor replied readily. "It refers to the past seat of the Count of Barcelona, if I remember correctly."

"Of Counts?" Yuuri questioned. "Of all things it could it be, that's a bit... anticlimactic."

"It should be something more fitting," Victor agreed. "Perhaps we should start a petition. City of Love is already taken, though, also by Paris."

Yuuri flushed at that, unsurprisingly, but he just kept taking his picture of the view in front of them. _These are personal_ , he kept telling Victor.

"What is Saint Petersburg called?" he asked instead.

"It has been called many things through the years," Victor's tone was lecturing. "During the twentieth century, the name was changed to Leningrad, then Petrograd, then back to Saint Petersburg. Today, we know it informally by the name of _Peter_."

"Peter?" Yuuri cooed, "That's weirdly cute."

"Also, 'The Mind of Russia'."

"That's less cute."

"What do you figure Hasetsu should be called?"

"I don't know," Yuuri pondered. "The One With The Ninja House?"

Victor found that so hilarious that he threw his head backwards in laughter, the sound so rich and wonderful Yuuri wanted to make him do it again and again.

Yuuri took a picture of him like that.

He checked his Instagram feed again, the likes count on their picture only growing. He scrolled down a bit and saw that Yurio had posted a picture from exactly the same spot where Victor was standing. _Is he here?_ , he thought excitedly. He supposed he missed the Russian punk, all things considered. _Oh, but it was hours ago._

The photo right under it was Otabek's, also ostensibly taken from the same position as Yurio's, with Barcelona stretching in the back like a doll city. _What?_

"Victor, did you see this?"

"See what?" Victor asked, already grabbing his phone. He loved gossip, this one. It was an unexpected thing about him that Yuuri found strangely endearing.

"I think Yurio was here with Otabek earlier," Yuuri gave him the briefing. "Their pictures were taken at the same time."

"It can't be," Victor rebuted, " _Our_ Yurio? Don't you know the kid? And Altin Otabek? The Kazakhstani skater?  He's always been so... brooding and silent. Can you imagine them talking about anything?"

"It's just... there's evidence."

"We'll need to ask later," Victor agreed, settling the issue. When Yuuri got his phone back, there was a message from Phichit waiting on the screen:

 

**Phichit:** (image)

**Phichit** : i will go down with this ship

 

It was his and Victor's picture from earlier. Looking at it again made Yuuri unconsciously smile. He didn't understand what he meant, though. Was he in trouble? Did he need help to go back to the hotel? Or was it metaphorically? But what was it a metaphor for? Did Phichit just really enjoy boats?

 

**Yuuri** : Are you at the harbor?

 

He sent. Yuuri was really confused. He wondered if Victor had seen it, and if he had understood what he meant.

When he put his phone down again, the Russian was staring at him that way he did sometimes, like Yuuri was someone worth staring at. That look puzzled him more than anything sometimes.

"There's a lot of open space around here, it's making me restless," Victor's gaze trailed through the park. "I know I said no training today, but... you see those pillars over there?"

"The lopsided ones that look like a bow from here?"

"Those," he confirmed, "Think you can chase me to them?"

"Sorry?"

"Catch me, Yuuri."

Then the crazy man started _running_.

In the middle of the park. 

Amongst the sea of tourists who were all trying to take pictures of the same bricks on the walls.

He must have showed up in at least fifty of them, a silver-colored blur which nobody knew where it came from, or where did it go.

Victor looked back for a second, stretching out his arm toward Yuuri. His bangs were all over his face as a result of his speedy turns and the wind blowing. He didn't stop running.

"Come on, Yuuri!"

Yuuri didn't need to be told again. So help him god, he made his way across the crowd as fast as he could, looking for Victor's hair again, but he was nowhere to be found this time. There were too many people blocking the path. He sprinted, though, when he spotted a familiar looking mop making his way through the bowed pillars far to his right.

He made an effort and practically jumped Victor, pressing him against a wall, breathless.

"Okay, I got you," he panted, "You're like a wild deer, I swear! Why did you start _running_ , I mean... nevermind."

It wasn't good that Victor looked positively sinful standing there in Yuuri's arms, with his hair looking like he had just woken up after sleeping in Yuuri's bed.

"You're cornered now," Yuuri stated, his voice sounding distant in his own ears.

"But am I?" Victor challenged, his grip around Yuuri's waist swiftly inverting their positions so Yuuri was the one plastered to the wall this time.

Yuuri's head collided against stone with a soft thump, but that happened so far away it couldn't have possibly hurt. Not when Victor was crowding his body so closely, his nose brushing against his own, and those sharp eyes were examining his so intensely, with something resembling hunger in their demeanor.

It couldn't hurt when Victor looked so much like he was about to kiss him.

Yuuri was aware he was gaping at him, but he couldn't let the Russian get away with this. He wouldn't be played with like that, he refused. Even by Victor. There were _limits_ , and Yuuri was sure Victor was surpassing the very last one of them. This was where he drew the line.

It was too close. Too real. He would not be able to react casually after being thoroughly kissed by Victor outside of practice and competitions. Not when they were a few days away from being done. Not when Yuuri was finally sure he was irrevocably in love with the man.

He could hold his hand, but he would not wear his heart on his sleeve.

"We should head back," Yuuri whispered to his skin, "We left the bags unattended."

Victor _froze_ like he was a deer caught in the flashlights, the irony of it not missing Yuuri's thoughts. His entire bearing changed as he slowly disengaged himself and let Yuuri go. "I'm sorry," he breathed, "I got a little too carried away."

_Yeah, you did,_ Yuuri thought, unsurprised. _It's what you do best._

_It's not because of me._

They went back in silence, failing spectacularly not to make this weird, what with Victor seemingly refusing to look at him, like it burned him somehow.

Yuuri couldn't believe he was the one who had man up and get it together after being threatened with a kiss and having to deny it for both their sakes.

It didn't _mean_ anything to Victor anyway, he would be over it in no time.

Right. He could do this.

He checked the time on his phone and found Phichit's response from earlier waiting for him, an hour later:

 

**Phichit:** u r funny yuuri

**Yuuri:** People keep telling me that today

**Yuuri:** I don't understand why.

 

On the way back to Las Ramblas, Victor still seemed a little off, which was worrying. Yuuri was competing tomorrow and didn't want to have this hanging between them like a sore thumb. He didn't know what to do to fix this.

They argued over stupid things like the missing bag of nuts with the green print, and whether they wanted to go back to the hotel already.

It was at the mention of Victor's birthday approaching on Christmas that Yuuri started to feel like he did something he was starting to regret immensely.

Maybe he should have just kissed him. He knew he had  _wanted_ to, and then maybe Victor would have looked happier now, and screw the consequences. Yuuri would deal with them as they came. He knew that Victor showed his affection and praise through touching, and now perhaps he was thinking Yuuri had only ever been professional towards him, not a friend, not... something else, too. But it was a bit too late for that.

He hadn't kissed him, but he could do something else to show just how much he appreciated Victor and everything he's done for him.

Yuuri had an idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri found their beds shoved together after he showered, the golden glint on his finger still a foreign sensation on his hand - too heavy, like he would never be able to forget it was there.

Victor was standing by the window absorbed in thought, his hand on his chin a matching reflection of Yuuri's own. "You can sleep on your side, if you want to. I know you need to be able to concentrate for tomorrow," he said softly. "I just wanted you closer tonight. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

Yuuri dried his hair with a towel and then followed Victor to bed. The older man was watching the news in a local channel, or in whatever other language he spoke that Yuuri didn't understand, still trying to blink himself awake after having one too many beers earlier in the evening.

When Yuuri met him halfway in the bed, turning his head to the side so they were sharing a pillow, he suddenly looked completely awake.

"Why didn't you ever mention the banquet before?" Yuuri asked what had been on his mind for the last few hours. If Victor had met him long before he remembered being introduced to the man, that certainly forced Yuuri to put their whole relationship under a different light.

"I suppose I just assumed you regretted everything about that night, and didn't want to press it," Victor sighed, almost reluctantly, "When I met you in Hasetsu again, you were so different."

Right. Because to Victor, Yuuri was the boy who had danced with him, strip-danced on a pole, grinded against him and then asked him to be his coach.

Not the mess that he found once he got to Japan.

"Things might have been different had I remembered," Yuuri confessed, raising his hands to cover his face. "I'm still so embarrassed. I promise you I will never drink again. People become monsters when they're drunk."

Victor smiled tenderly at him, letting out a soft laugh. 

"Well, I'm a bit on the side of tipsy myself right now, if I may say so."

"I know, your accent gets thicker when you've had a few drinks," Yuuri complied, smiling right back at him.

"Yuuri, is it possible you like it when I sound like the super villain guy from that movie with the minions?"

Yuuri had a sudden realization.

"You _do_!" he exclaimed in shock, "You do sound like Gru when you're drunk! I don't know how I never noticed it before, but I won't let you live this down."

Victor feigned indignation and ducked his head to hide it under the blankets like a petulant child. "I most certainly do _not._ "

"Do _too_."

"Do _not."_

"You do and do not pretend you didn't just confess it," Yuuri was talking to a white blob now.

He could hear a low chuckle under the sheets.

Yuuri insinuated his arm under the white linens to flick Victor in the face, but the man took his offering instead, pressing a kiss to his fingers and keeping them over his torso.

Yuuri had no choice but to dive completely under the sheets as well. He met Victor in his warm cocoon, and then they were both hiding from the world together in their bed.

"How did you manage to get yourself tangled up so quickly?" Yuuri asked, loosing the sheets around the silver-haired man's waist. "You look like you're wearing a toga."

"Are you saying I look like a Greek god?" Victor provoked.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Yuuri finally flicked him. "That being said, your junior routine on Greek mythology was something else entirely. Did I ever mention that?"

"I created that routine after my grandmother took me to Athens for the summer," Victor told him, covering Yuuri's fingers with his own. "I could take you to Greece, you know. You would like it there."

"I'm sure I would."

"Yeah," Victor replied lazily, slowly caressing Yuuri's finger ring like it was a small marvel.

"You know, I just realized why Chris grabbed my butt when I first met him in the Cup of China," Yuuri said in a small voice.

Victor laughed heartily. "You two were pole dance partners, after all."

"Oh, my god _,_ when you put in like _that_..."

"If I'm a Greek god, then you would be the equivalent Helen of Troy from the myths. Your beauty would have caused a thousand wars by now in ancient history."

Yuuri huffed in disbelief, blushing all the same.

"They all want you, Yuuri," Victor declared, looking at nowhere in particular, "But they can't have you."

_What about you?,_  Yuuri wanted to ask, but was starting to feel very sleepy from Victor's fondling of his hand.

Victor threw the blanket off their heads and got impossibly closer. He didn't say anything anymore, but kept Yuuri's arm tucked against his chest all night.

Yuuri dared to imagine a future in the way Victor's breath lingered on the hollow of his palm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, it all went to hell very quickly after that.

Yuuri fucked up his quad flip on his short program; he had to put his hand on the ice and was mediocre in comparison to everyone else, except for JJ's unexpected fluke. The _quad flip_ , Victor's signature move. 

It was more than he could handle. He was sure he couldn't recover from this on his free program and the Grand Prix Finals were as good as lost to Yuuri Katsuki, the dime-a-dozen skater who never really stood a chance.

"After the finals, let's end this."

He couldn't keep holding Victor back, selfishly stealing him from the world and wasting his youth away.

But then Victor called him selfish, for completely different reasons, and started crying in front of him, and Yuuri was absolutely at loss. Victor didn't cry. Victor kept it together. Yuuri felt like the worst person in the entire world for making him cry and that only made his resolution stronger.

"How can you tell me to go back to skating while saying you're retiring?" Victor yelled, the most betrayed tone in his voice.

"I can't be your sole reason to keep on skating," Yuuri yelled back in denial.

"No, you're not," he agreed, wistfully, "You're just the most important one."

Yuuri was sure he missed something very important that happened along their journey together for the past year. Because there was no way that could be true unless...

"Victor, how do you feel about me?" Yuuri asked tentatively.

"Isn't it obvious?" he smiled sadly.

"Don't ever assume something is obvious to me when it comes to you, Victor. I still can't believe you're here some days, when it all feels like too much. You don't understand what it's like for me. I keep posters of you under my _bed_. This thing - this thing I think we have - I made it up in my head, it isn't _real_."

"If that isn't real to you, then let me tell you what is," Victor stated determinedly. "It's the way I've been pining for this very _real_  boy since the last Grand Prix Finals and how he's rejected me in every possible way since then. And to think I didn't understand what I was doing wrong! I was sure you just weren't interested after a few months, but respected me well enough to keep me around."

"I wasn't rejecting you!" Yuuri said defensively. "I had to keep my distance, I had no way of knowing what you felt! You're... you're flirty and persuasive, it's just how you are, Victor. It took me a while to realize you were even interested at all, because on top of that I've been told I'm infuriatingly clueless when it comes to other people's feelings... but then I figured it was only because I was there and it was easier. I didn't know you felt affected at all by me, and my actions, and that you were hurt."

"Yuuri, I let you put a ring on my finger," Victor raised his hand in display. "That's how much you affect me."

"I didn't mean it as a commitment!" Yuuri thought he should clarify, "I wasn't  _trying_  to keep you with me, it was me saying thank you for everything you did for me, I didn't mean for us to get engaged."

"Well, I did," Victor snarled. "I told everybody, I told your _family_  we were. I thought that was the only way you'd know that I'd _meant_ it, that I wouldn't joke about love, but I guess that is the problem, Yuuri. You never stand up and fight for what you want. I've been trying to teach you how to do that, but you're as dense as a brick when you want to be."

"So this is what yesterday has been all about? The chasing, the freaking _ice cream_ , Victor?" Yuuri couldn't believe it, "What do you think I've been doing for the past year _but_ fight?"

"You've been fighting for gold."

"Of course!" Yuuri said, "That's what you _came_ here for!"

"I wanted you to fight for _me,"_  Victor confessed in a low voice. "I've been asking you that with my actions all week. This is almost over now, Yuuri. I know you want me. Why won't you ask for it?"

"I can't do that to you," Yuuri ran his hand over his hair, "It's a mistake. You don't see it right now, you think you're infatuated with your fan who would do anything for you. But you're gonna wake up in the morning eventually and I realize I'm just not what you want. I don't wanna be there for that."

Victor was shaking his head no frantically and grabbed his arm.

"Do you want me to admit it?" he said right to Victor's face, a mere inches from his, "Fine. I love you. I always have. Ever since I was a boy, even more so since I met you. It's been killing me, but I can't help it. It's always been you, Victor. It'll always be you."

Victor let out a pained noise in relief.

"You're not just my fan, Yuuri," he said, cupping his face gently. "You're my colleague, my equal, my student. Didn't you know that? Did you seriously never consider that? To me, you're the man who saved me, the reason why I choose to keep fighting... you're my best friend. I love you, _solnyshko_. I'm so in love with you. I'm sorry if I have been so inadequate showing it."

Yuuri held him by the shoulders and hugged him tightly. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing together in the dim light of their hotel room.

"We're both wrong," Yuuri finally said, "I'm sorry too, Victor. I shouldn't have just presumed I knew your feelings and tried to erase them like that. You know this is hard for me. I've never done this before. But I want to, with you. You're the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to... I meant that."

"You yelled that for the whole world to hear."

"I did," Yuuri agreed, smiling, "You know, for all our lack of communication, we seem to be quite keen on grand public confessions of devotion. I think we should probably start with each other first."

"So no more live kisses?"

"What about a live kiss right now?"

They met halfway, like they usually did.

"I believe that's how it went the other time," Victor said, wickedly, as he tackled Yuuri to the bed and kissed him hard, all teeth and hard angles first, before finding it him to take it slowly and drive Yuuri insane with his tongue.

Not after long, they were already rubbing together through thin fabric, Victor with his ridiculous white robe and Yuuri with his sweater pants that did nothing to cover his painful arousal.

"Vitya..."

"We're not doing anything you don't want, don't worry," Victor pulled back with a soft sound, always mindful of Yuuri's inhibitions, "Just let me stay with you tonight."

" _Of course,_ but... please, let's finish this first."

Victor didn't need to be told twice. He went back to ravishing Yuuri's mouth in no time, pressing their erections together more strongly, now that their intentions were clear. When it became too much and Yuuri was whimpering from their friction, Victor threw a hand between and it was over very, very quickly after that.

They lay down in their backs, sated and exhausted, and Yuuri was considering sleeping, which he probably did for a few seconds, because when he looked up again Victor was cleaning him up with the hand towel that had been hanging from the chair.

"We don't have to make a decision right now," Victor said then, to put an ease to their earlier discussion.

"We'll decide after the Finals," Yuuri conceded, and Victor wrapped himself around Yuuri's back when he lied down again, protecting him from the cold that was finally seeping into the room.

Victor lulled him back into slumber again, lazily tracing patterns across Yuuri's skin.

"Just for the record," the Russian added, almost like an afterthought, "You said before you fell in love with someone who didn't know you, and that there's no way I could ever know how it feels."

Yuuri sighed. Victor held him firmer then, to ensure he wasn't trying to blame him for anything.

"I fell in love with a boy who didn't remember me. I've been trying to get him back ever since. But who I found instead was better, Yuuri. It was you."

Yuuri knew how that felt, indeed.

"You're so much more than I could ever hope for," he confessed.

"Am I better than your posters, Yuuri?" Victor asked with a hint of a smirk.

Yuuri had to turn around and face him for that answer. He was met with Victor's faint freckles across his pointed nose, his slightly crooked teeth, his disproportionately long forehead and overall _perfect_ face.

Victor Nikiforov was real, and he was Yuuri's.

_Thank you, Barcelona._

"Well, my posters can't kiss me back."

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the middle of night, Yuuri's cellphone buzzed in the bedside table.

 

**Phichit:** no, but seriously, yuuri. i'm so happy for you. count on me to be your best man at the wedding, okay? 

**Phichit:** you and victor nikiforov. who would have thought?

**Phichit:** (well, i would have. i always had faith in you.)

**Phichit:** does that mean i'm allowed to post the rest of your embarrassing pics together?

**Phichit:** oh god, you're so gonna hate me when you wake up

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all of this while being sick, but the fluff has kept me warm and fuzzy. Feel free to drop me any corrections, as this work hasn't been beta'd and English is not my native language.
> 
> If you have any suggestions of where in the world I should take them next, this could very well become a travel!series. I love the idea of them touristing together, as you might have noticed.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and see you soon.


End file.
